A Scrying Shame

by Donna White Glaser

  “And you never told the police? Not even after Marissa’s murder?” Arie said.

  June sighed again. “I know, I know. It’s . . . look, this is all I have.” She spread out her arms. “This house. This business. That’s it.”

  “Plus a bazillion garden gnomes,” Chandra muttered.

  “Brides are always acting up,” June went on as though she hadn’t heard. “Getting married is the most stressful thing a woman ever has to deal with. They fall apart, and I’m supposed to be there to pick up the pieces. If word gets out that I’m blabbing about their silly tantrums, I might as well close up shop and apply at Walmart.”

  “But it wasn’t only a silly tantrum, was it?” Arie pushed.

  “How do I know? Riann was mad, sure, but if she was going to try to kill Marissa, she would’ve done it right then. I may not like her, but I can’t imagine her sneaking back to Marissa’s apartment hours later and chasing her from room to room with a butcher knife. Besides, Kelli told me that Riann already told the police about the ex-boyfriend, so they would have known how she felt about Marissa’s . . . indiscretion, shall we say.”

  Arie and Chandra exchanged glances. Marissa’s indiscretion? Brant?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Arie lay twisted in a tangle of sweaty sheets. Flinging them off, she padded out to the kitchen.

  Was Brant Marissa’s “little indiscretion”?

  She rummaged in the fridge for something good to eat. Her mother had stocked the crisper with apples and oranges, but they weren’t quite what Arie had in mind. Brant, of course, had always loved fruits and vegetables.

  She’d called him earlier, but he hadn’t answered. Hadn’t—or wouldn’t. When she tried leaving a message, she discovered his voice mailbox was full—another very un-Brantlike behavior. Arie’s brother didn’t let things pile up. He’d been born making lists, preferably alphabetized and in order of priority. Nothing satisfied his neat little soul like crossing off items, one by one.

  The uncertainty of not being able to contact him made Arie feel even more estranged from her brother, from her whole family, really. She’d never been close to her mother, of course. But lately, she’d even felt disconnected from her father. It made her feel sad, but also guilty.

  Arie hadn’t wanted to come back from the Other Side. It had been too beautiful. There really weren’t any words capable of describing the place she’d been allowed to visit briefly and then been sent away from.

  She sprawled across the table and buried her head in her arms. Crying over her ejection from heaven wasn’t a new thing. Arie had been depressed for months afterward, but she’d thought she’d gotten past the raw, aching emptiness.

  Guess not.

  The kitchen lights flicked on. Grumpa, in a short, ratty green robe, blinked at her blearily from the doorway.

  “What the heck is wrong with you?”

  Arie wiped her face on her sleeve. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Did you have a bad day at work or something?” He remained in the doorway, his pale, spindly legs sticking out of the bottom of his robe like stalks.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

  “You still upset over that parking lot thing?”

  Arie stiffened.

  “‘That parking lot thing’? I died in that parking lot, Grumpa. I was murdered.”

  “Look. I’m eighty-three years old. You think I haven’t thought about dying? But I realized I’ve got two choices. So do you, and so does every other breathing animal on this earth. You can focus on death, or you can focus on life. I’m not going to waste the time I have left.”

  “Oh, right. You’re telling me you focus on life? Because it sure doesn’t seem to make you very happy. In fact, I can honestly say you suck at it.”

  “That’s because I’m still getting used to it. Happiness is a habit, and I ain’t used to it yet. And don’t say suck. It’s not ladylike.”

  Arie thunked her head down on the table. Her mother had shape-shifted into a crabby old man in a puke-green bathrobe.

  “It’s all your fault, anyway,” Grumpa said.

  Arie picked her head up and glared at him. “Your century-old bad attitude is my fault now?”

  “See, that’s rude. Who’s the one with the bad attitude now?”

  Grumpa shuffled over to the refrigerator and pulled the door of the bottom freezer open. His robe was so short that for a brief, paralyzing moment, Arie thought she was going to be treated to the sight of her grandfather’s bare butt. She experienced a whole-body shudder that almost tipped her chair over.

  “Maybe you should explain that.” Arie was getting another headache.

  “Well, that parking lot thing. I’d never thought about you dying before me.” He was still rummaging around in the freezer. “And then afterward, you got all sad and weepy.”

  He stood, a couple of frozen Snickers bars clutched in his scrawny hand. Arie’s heart lifted, and the possibility of forgiving his chronic insensitivity and general crabbiness loomed. He tossed one over to her and then peeled the wrapper halfway down his own.

  Lucky for him. She was not above candy snatching from the elderly, or anyone else, for that matter.

  “I figured, if you got that down in the dumps about not staying dead, it must’ve been pretty nice. So I decided not to worry about it anymore. Death, I mean. And I decided there were still some things I wanted to do before my time did come, just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “Well . . . just in case I didn’t qualify for that nice place. Sometimes, I’m a little hard to get along with.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Grumpa ignored her. “And in case I didn’t get a second chance the way you did.”

  A second chance . . . there was something in that.

  “What things do you want to do before your time comes?”

  Grumpa looked startled, then his expression folded back into its usual sour lines. “None of your beeswax, little girl. You mind your business; I’ll mind mine.”

  So much for bonding.

  Arie had to talk to Brant, but he wasn’t exactly cooperating. She’d left several messages, including one at work. When he continued to avoid her calls, she pulled out the big guns. She threatened to—what else?—tell their mother that he wouldn’t talk to her.

  He called fourteen minutes later, but he was not pleased.

  It took a while, but Arie finally got him to agree to a meeting—his place in Madison, where he’d lived since graduating college. Neither of them wanted to chance a run-in with their mother. Arie had to use her GPS to find his house, a small Craftsman-style starter home in a decent neighborhood.

  If she’d expected a heartwarming welcome, she didn’t get it. Brant answered the door in jeans and an old gray UWM sweatshirt with coffee stains on the front. It was an outfit most people would look relaxed in. On Brant, however, it only served to illustrate the distress he must have felt.

  It occurred to Arie that her brother had suffered a significant loss. She felt a wave of guilt at her insensitivity.

  They settled in the living room. Brant seemed distracted and apprehensive. He cleared his throat. “So, what do you want?”

  “I want to know what’s going on.” Arie flung up a hand. “And don’t say ‘nothing’. We both know you’re in trouble.”

  Brant didn’t speak right away. When he did, it was only to ask if Arie had told their parents.

  “Not yet,” she answered. “But if this gets any worse, they are going to have to know.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean, worse?”

  “Oh, come on, Brant. I know the cops are questioning you about Marissa. And Riann said you showed up one night when she and Marissa went out, and Marissa went home with you.”

  Brant scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned. “That bitch. Look, you need to stay out of this. I didn’t kill Marissa. I loved her”—Brant’s eyes met his sister’s—”and she loved me.”

  “She was
engaged to—”

  “She was going to break it off. It wasn’t working out. The asshole was starting to show his true colors, and they were fighting all the time.”

  “Over the prenup?”

  Brant looked surprised. “How do you—”

  “Never mind how I know. I just do. Marissa was going through with the marriage. I met her wedding planner, Brant. Nobody has said anything about the wedding being called off.”

  “Well, she was going to. She was waiting for the right time. It wasn’t an easy thing for her to do. She was afraid of him, Arie.”

  Arie thought about the look on Chad’s face when he screamed at Marissa in the vision. She shivered.

  “He killed her,” Brant said. “I know he did.”

  “He wasn’t even in town.”

  “So what? Maybe he came home, and they had it out or something. All he had to do is turn around and drive back to Chicago.”

  “How do you know he was in Chicago?”

  Brant blushed.

  “She told you, didn’t she?” Arie was horrified. “Were you there that night?”

  “No.” Tears pooled in Brant’s eyes. “But I wish I had been. She wasn’t feeling well, and besides . . .”

  “Besides, what?”

  “We never met at her place. She was always afraid the asshole would walk in.”

  Arie looked around the nondescript room. “She came here?”

  Brant shook his head. “It was too far for her to drive. The asshole was keeping close track of everywhere she went and how long she was gone. She’d never be able to explain away a three- or four-hour chunk of time.”

  “Then where did you meet?”

  “Her sister’s. Marissa was paying the rent anyway, so it’s not like she didn’t have some rights.”

  “Oh, crap.” Arie gasped. “No wonder the police think you’re involved. Kelli must have told them what you two were doing.”

  “I don’t think so,” Brant said. “She seemed cool with it.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Kelli is a spoiled brat. She’s not going to cover for anybody, much less her sister’s lover.”

  This time, Brant’s voice was laced with anger. “I disagree. She knows how much we loved each other. She’s already proved it.”

  “By letting you two fool around in her apartment? What choice did she have?”

  “It’s not only that. She’s proved it since then, too. She even sent me—”

  Brant’s cell phone buzzed like an angry bee, vibrating across the coffee table in front of them. He reached for it, but Arie grabbed his arm.

  “Brant, Marissa was paying Kelli’s way. Of course she’s going to keep her secrets and kiss her a—”

  Brant yanked his arm away. “Look, never mind. I know you mean well, but it’s time to go.”

  “Brant—”

  “It’s going to be okay. Leave it alone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Arie had arranged her second day with Riann for later that week. Riann, having had more time to think about possible uses for her minion, had a full to-do list all ready. In addition to the guest list for the still nonexistent wedding and updating her calendar, Riann had decided that she needed to start her own blog. She also decided that Arie, despite having no experience as a web designer, should get it all set up so that all Riann needed to do was dictate her posts. Typing was out of the question because it would surely damage her manicure.

  After reiterating her almost total ignorance of all things blog-related, Arie asked Riann what theme she would use.

  “Theme?” Riann asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what will you be talking about?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll probably talk about whatever comes to mind at the time.”

  “But is there going to be a consistent topic?” Arie asked. “Like, some blogs are on scrapbooking or working moms. Stuff like that. They usually have some kind of common denominator.”

  “What’s a denominator?”

  “Okay, skip that. What sorts of things do you like to talk about? Do you have a hobby?”

  Riann shrugged. “I talk about whatever.”

  This was a fast train going nowhere. Maybe the concept of a theme was too ambitious.

  “How about a color scheme? Do you have a favorite color or style?” Arie worked hard to keep the tone of desperation out of her voice.

  Riann shrugged again. “I don’t know. Something pretty. Maybe diamonds. I like diamonds.” She giggled.

  “Diamonds,” Arie said. She was supposed to design a website based on . . . diamonds.

  Before Arie could figure out how to explain to Riann that diamonds weren’t a color, the intercom near the front door chimed. While Riann answered it, Arie started Googling DIY blog sites. She reminded herself she only needed the job long enough to find Marissa’s killer. Keeping Brant out of jail would be a nice bonus.

  Arie’s mother-inside-her-head voice was not amused at her priorities. The real one wouldn’t be either.

  Riann called to Arie from the living room.

  “Coming, master,” Arie grunted.

  As soon as Arie entered the living room, she stumbled to a halt. Kelli sat on the couch with Riann, the two of them chatting in a high-pitched, bubbly tone that dripped with insincerity. Unaware that Arie and Kelli had already met, Riann gestured her over to the couch.

  Arie’s stomach started a languorous slow roll as fear flooded it with acid.

  At first, Kelli didn’t recognize her, but as Riann began describing the talents of her newly acquired pet psychic, Kelli’s head tilted, and a puzzled look seeped into her eyes.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t think so.”

  “I’m telling you,” Riann said, “the things she told me about Marissa are simply amazing. I’ve never—”

  “Are you sure? Because you look really familiar.”

  Riann, miffed at being interrupted, scowled. “Do you want to hear about this or not? Chad met her the other day, and even he was freaked out.”

  Kelli stiffened, and her attention immediately swung back to her hostess. “Chad was here? What did he want?”

  Riann smirked. “He came to see me. You know that he and I have been keeping in touch. It’s the least I could do for Marissa.”

  At that, Kelli suffered a complete fail as she tried pushing a smile through gritted teeth, allowing Riann to score a point in the mean-girls battle they seemed to be waging. Arie kept very still, hoping to avoid notice. She’d never been any good at making hurtful remarks sound as though they were intended as a compliment—a basic skill for any mean girl.

  Unfortunately, she was still standing in the middle of the room. And, of course, when Kelli cast about for a distraction, her eyes fell directly on Arie. It was the boobs that did it.

  “I do remember you. You’re the janitor.” Kelli glanced around the room as though trying to reconcile the idea of Arie’s presence with Riann’s pristine palace. “No wonder you know all this stuff.”

  “What?” Riann looked at Kelli as though the younger woman had lost her mind. “She’s not a janitor. She’s my personal assistant.”

  “Actually, I’m both,” Arie said.

  “What?” Riann’s face scrunched up in confusion.

  “I’m a hazardous waste technician for BioClean We do biohazard cleanups, like crime scenes or unattended deaths. That’s how—”

  “I don’t understand,” Riann said. Her face had still not unscrunched.

  “I work—”

  “She’s a janitor,” Kelli said. “She wears a hideously ugly yellow sweat suit, and she cleans up dead people. She must have been pawing through Marissa’s things. That’s how she—”

  “I’m a technician,” Arie said.

  “You mean, like, for computers?” Riann asked.

  Arie closed her eyes. She really hoped Riann was successful at keeping her body a temple because her brain was never going to be a viable fallback position.<
br />
  “Who the hell said anything about computers?” Kelli asked.

  Time to get control of this situation.

  “I work for a company that cleans up blood and other dangerous things at crime scenes,” Arie told Riann in her nanny voice. “That’s how I . . . uh . . . met Marissa.”

  “Ohhh.” Riann smiled in relief. “I get it. Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “How does that make sense?” Kelli said.

  “Because how else are dead people going to find Arie? Do you think they’re going to chase her around town? I mean, duh. If she’s a psychic—and she is—then that’s a perfect job for her to get clients. It’s kind of gross, though, huh?” Riann turned to Arie with her nose wrinkled like a little bunny.

  “It can be,” Arie said. “That’s why I have to wear the ugly suit.”

  “Oh, my gosh, yeah. I don’t blame you. Except I wouldn’t want to wear it.”

  Kelli rolled her eyes. Riann, for the most part clueless, caught that.

  “Well, Miss I-Don’t-Believe-In-Ghosts, I guess you won’t want to come to the little gathering I’m throwing together for Marissa’s grieving loved ones.”

  “A party?” Kelli said.

  “Well, not really a party,” Riann said. “That would be tacky. More like a séance. I’m going to have Arie read for us. I mean, for Chad and Mitch and Wyatt. And, of course, me.” To Arie, she said, “This way, you can make up for whatever happened the other day with Chad. That was so freaky.” Turning back to Kelli, she continued. “It’s too bad you can’t make it. In fact, I guess I’ll be the only girl there.”

  Arie looked down to see if her breasts had evaporated. Nope—still there.

  “Oh, Riann,” Kelli said sweetly. “You know I wouldn’t miss that for anything. After all, I’m Marissa’s little sister. You know she would want me there.”

  Now that Riann had regained her ascendancy, she smiled. “I suppose one more won’t hurt.”

  Wonderful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The gathering at the lake house was everything Arie imagined a socialite cocktail party would be. Soft jazz drifted down from surround-sound speakers, lights had been dimmed, and a bar had been set up in a corner.